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Mjaln
In the cold and frozen north, only the hardiest survive. Southern folk shiver and shudder at the thought of these towering, majestic mountains in which blizzards blow cold enough to freeze running veins, and where trolls and Vándr wander the slopes, raiding and killing all which they lay their eyes upon. However, there are those who carry the strength and the courage to face these dangers both natural and unnatural, where lesser men would shy away. They are the Mjaln, and they embody the concepts of honor, of bravery, of legend, and of self-sacrifice. These 10-foot giants of snow and mountains live lives almost completely isolated from the rest of the world; almost never are they part of their wars, of their politics, or their traditions. When setting foot in the mountains, one will quickly realize that they are in Mjaln lands, for all that may have seemed omnipresent in southern lands, are suddenly naught but traveler's tales and fickle tellings. The Mjaln vastly prefer to have no part in southern dabbles and doings - and thus, they have become a very solitary folk, and thus often quite peaceful. Peaceful in heart and soul, that is. Far from peaceful, on the matter of war. Ever since the Mjaln were created, they have been at war with the trolls. In fact, the very reason for their existence, is to be at war with the trolls. For centuries upon centuries have the Mjaln and the trolls fought for territorial dominance over the mountains, and have thus almost split it in two; the Mjaln in the east, and the trolls in the west. Chieftains and Jarls are constantly crossing blades, both figuratively and literally. Mjaln are taught from childhood that the trolls are the enemy, and thus far most of them, boys and girls alike, are raised to pick up a blade and defend their beloved lands. By far, most of them become esteemed huscarls, the northern equivalent to the southern knights. They grow to forge strong bonds with other huscarls and form small war parties of six or seven men and women, to whom they have sworn dedication and loyalty to the very last drop of blood. However, amongst the huscarls that make up this trust war party, there are often one - rarely two - warriors who have walked upon a darker path than their noble brethren. They called themselves 'berserkers'. The berserkers are a certain kind of Mjaln who are respected, feared, and scorned at the same time. The berserkers are warriors like all the rest, but they have taken upon themselves a sacrifice that only those who truly have lost everything, would even start to consider. In fear of failure, death, permanent disability or scorn, most Mjaln stray from the thought of becoming a berserker - but those who do, and those who do so successfully, become a force on the battlefield equal or surpassing the strength of the entire war party to which they are dedicated. Berserkers make use of an unrefined and savage form of shamanism, trained to call upon one spirit only: Rage. The smooth chants that shamans would usually employ have become furious, animalistic screams, and the wide fan of magics that shamans could usually call upon, has been reduced to Rage, and only Rage. The berserkers that employ these magics will become a near-unstoppable force of destruction on the battlefield, and are never made use of, unless the war party face something they cannot handle on their own. The berserks intoxicate themselves with their savage magic, render themselves many times stronger than before, unable to recognize defeat, but also unable to recognize friend from foe. Because of this, berserkers have become rather notorious for killing their fellow Mjaln - but also because of the nature of the magic they employ. Being a berserker is a sacrifice in many ways, one of them being that due to Rage being a spirit of the Netherworld, they face disgust and dread from their fellow Mjaln, should the truth be known to them. But as they come of age, they also face crippling disability and brain damage, unable to think clearly, unable to talk, unable to walk, and with no one to care for them, because of the dark spirit they have employed. Because of this, the Jarls would never let a berserker enter their army, in fear of facing the distrust and disloyalty of the people. And if they do, they do so in utmost secrecy... for deep down, all Mjaln know what wonders a berserker can achieve, if let loose upon the enemy. But in all their sacrifice and in all their pain, the berserkers have one thing to look forward to. While other men must die in combat to achieve it, the moment that the berserkers take upon their darkened mantle, they secure themselves a spot in what every Mjaln desires: Fennerheim. Religion The Mjaln religion is a very primal one, and primitive one, some might say. While other lands may worship the five gods as the supreme deities, the Mjaln know no difference between gods and spirits, as they all reside within the heavens anyway. They simply revere the spirits as a whole, as a collection of patrons that look over them, and guide them wherever they can. The Mjaln will seek solace and aid within certain spirits, all depending on their current predicament; are they lonely, they may leave an offering to Love; are they fearful, they may speak a prayer to Courage; are they grieving, they may seek solace with Peace, and the list goes on. The reverence of the spirits is often quite individual, as being taught to seek help with the spirits is like being taught not to play with your food, or how to shake hands - it is simply part of life in the mountains, and part of who the Mjaln are. But even so, there are those who specialize within this reverence, and achieve a higher level of understanding for the spiritual. Shamanism is a well-respected art within Mjaln society, as they have proven time and again, that they are the ones who can interpret the spirits' words the clearest. Shamans may be seen as the equivalent of southern priests, as they revere the same gods and spirits, even if in their own way. Although Mjaln society often revolves around warring against the trolls, shamans are rarely part of it, save for their outcast kind: the berserkers. Shamans are some of the few who will grow old and die old, as they often spend most of their lives within the safety of the walls, performing public service and helping the people find peace in these dangerous times. They are some of the few Mjaln who do not care for the fabled afterlife known as Fennerheim. Fennerheim is a world beyond worlds, inhabited solely by Mjaln; no humans, or elves, or Myaani are allowed within these sacred halls. It is a world where dead men go, should they die in battle, and a place where they may feast and fight and be merry for the rest of eternity together with their brethren. It is said that no matter who you are, no matter what you have done in life, if you die fighting for your fellow Mjaln, you shall find eternal salvation and redemption (and mead) within the halls of Fennerheim. When, in Mjaln society, someone has committed a heinous crime such as murder or betrayal, there are three possible outcomes: banishment from the mountains, execution by axe, or execution by Frostvangr. The latter is a sentence only decreed by shamans, who will look into the subject's soul, and see if they truly regret what they have done. If they do, they will be given their best suit of armor, a sharpened axe, and sent into the Well of Repentance. This well is no ordinary well, as it does not lead down to water, but down to a tunnel deep within the bowels of the mountains, that leads straight out into the frigid desolation of Frostvanr, where blizzards are eternal and the Vándr reside. Being given this sentence is a show of mercy, as the subject is thrown into a place where they are almost certain to die in combat, and to be given a place in Fennerheim. The sentence by banishment is the second worst, and is only decreed if the subject realizes what they have done, but their crime is too grave to be so easily forgiven. They are banished from the mountains, never to return again, and are left to find their own salvation; and if they die in combat, they too will be given a place in Fennerheim. And then there is execution by axe. If the subject shows no regret for what they have done, and have done it only in spite of their fellow Mjaln, they will be robbed of their place in Fennerheim, and left to hammer at the gates of paradise - but never to be let inside. But amongst all the certainties and rules that make up the Mjaln religion, there is one thing that has been wrought in mystery for a long time, and which only theories can be made of. These are the Ginnregin, a force from the heavens that have fallen to The Mortal Realm as massive boulders covered in signs and symbols of a godly tongue that only the heavens can hope to comprehend. Little is certain about the Ginnregin, but the highest shamans have claimed that these great boulders were once spirits, who were then surpassed in their own purpose by something or someone who embodied it truer. But simply because they have fallen from the heavens, do not make them necessarily evil, the shamans have said; those who are willing to give up their throne will fall as Ginnregin, and live out the rest of eternity as a beacon of light, fortune, and protection, for those who come to seek home under its shadow. Entire villages have been built around some of these Ginnregin, to share its company, to give it the reverence it deserves, and to make the most of its gracious gift. But there are those, in the heavens, who would not so willingly give up their place as spirits: the Ofríki. Legend says that a star on the sky will turn red as blood when a spirit has been deemed unworthy of its throne, but refuses to leave it. But no matter how much they try, they are already earth-bound by the time they are deemed unworthy, and will fall no matter what. But once they do, they do not fall as Ginnregin, but as Ofríki. These are marked by a blood red writing across their boulder surface, and are known to be a target for darker sorcerers, who come to seek its defiled powers. And because of this, in the year 644, Jarl Ögun created a force to make sure this does not happen. They are the Spirit Guard, and they are one of the most respected orders throughout all of the Mjaln Mountains. The Spirit Guard are a force dedicated to keeping the Ofríki out of darker hands, and have sworn an oath never to leave the Ofríki unguarded, regardless of what foe they might face. There are few forces as fearless as the Spirit Guard, and for good reasons: not only do they know that they will be ensured a place in Fennerheim when they die, but they are already close to going there. The Spirit Guard is exclusively populated by Mjaln who have aged far beyond their war party days, but still have enough fight in them to stand guard by the Ofríki. It is also because of their proximity to death that they dare be so close to the Ofríki in the first place; this tainted Ginnregin is notorious for spreading disease and ill fortune to those who dare come too close, but when you're already this close to death by age, such things do not frighten. The Spirit Guard are only for those who know they are going to die, and soon. Amongst the berserkers, these Mjaln are the very symbols of a virtue highly praised in the mountains: the sacrifice of one self, for the good of kin. Government Sitting on the commanding throne of the Mjaln, is the highest-ranking of them all: the jarl. Every three years a tournament is held in Hraustligr Virki, which they prefer to refer to as an 'election', as it is the closest they will ever get to one. In the Mjaln society, strength in combat is seen as the ultimate trait, and if a Mjaln bests another Mjaln in the ring, that Mjaln will be widely seen as superior in every way to the bested Mjaln. In the tournament, Mjaln with political ambitions from all reaches of the world travel to Hraustligr Virki to fight in the tournament, in hopes of proving themselves worthy for the title of jarl. And in the ring, all tricks are allowed. If a Mjaln can beat another Mjaln with their wit, then their mind is stronger than the opponent's brawn, and proves their superiority either way. When a jarl has been 'elected', they will sit on the throne in Hraustligr Virki for three years, and have absolute power over all things Mjaln. But even with all this power, their main issue is nearly always managing the armies, and commanding the war. The Mjaln armies are notorious for their fabled bear cavalry, which is literal in every sense; it consists of Mjaln who ride bears that are specifically bred to be large and strong enough to carry a rider, despite how ridiculous that sounds. But when faced with a charging army of Mjaln riding on armored bears, the idea seems to become less ridiculous, and more terrifying. The jarls have been trying new tactics every three years as to how they could go about sending the trolls back home, but the trolls have proved too tenacious time and again. The war between the Mjaln and trolls, commonly referred to as the 'Fimbulwinter War', has been in a stalemate for centuries, and no new jarl has ever been able to solve it. Both sides are too warlike, determined to conquer their foe, that neither have ever considered peace an option. Generally, those who propose such an idea are often laughed at, before being stripped of their clothes and dropped off somewhere in the mountains to find their way home. History The Mjaln Mountains have not always been inhabited by Mjaln, despite the name. In the beginning, there were no one - no one but goats and bears. But after that, the trolls came. They invaded the mountains from Trollheim, sailing through The Stepping Stones, and effortlessly taking all of the mountains for themselves. They built underground cities in the mountains many years before the Mjaln came, and made it clear to all southern nations that any who may dare tread on their territory would have their trespassing punished by death. However, as the years went by, some of the troll warchiefs began to grow ambitious, and mustered an army to conquer more lands to the south. This was well before Elfwood came to be, and the area where Elfwood lies now, was once a fourth valley, where King Olaf the Third ruled. For a while now he had been wary about the trolls and their warlike behaviour, and had expected that they would launch an assault to conquer more land, so he was ready when they did. He had prepared an army, rallied forces from the other valleys too, but when the two armies met on the feet of the mountains where they would clash, King Olaf quickly came to realize that he had underestimated the power of the trolls. Once he believed they were barbaric grunts, incapable of elaborate thinking, but when he saw how the trolls began to cast spells that froze his men alive on the battlefield, the fight took a turn for the worse. The united armies of the four valleys had near been crushed while the trolls effortlessly plowed them down, and King Olaf prayed for his men. And it seemed that, on the day of their battle, the gods had heard him. For as all seemed lost, the god of war, Hrumalz, bestowed a blessing upon the armies of man, empowering them to now heights. They grew stronger, much stronger - and much taller. All the weak and scared lost their fear and feebleness, and found the courage to take up arms once more and push back the trolls. This was the day that the Mjaln were born, and henceforth became what may turn out to be acknowledged as an entirely new race, after they settled down in the mountains and founded Hraustligr Virki. In the years that passed, when King Olaf had passed away, the war continued and the Mjaln established the concept of jarlhood. At that point, Jarl Fenner sat on the throne of Hraustligr Virki, and was commonly known as the 'Shaman Jarl', because of his shamanistic abilities. Fenner was a just Jarl, a wise one too, and one of the rare subjects who had won the 'election' with his wits. In the first year of his reign he created the most holy of all Mjaln things, known as 'The Great Blaze'; an eternal bonfire in Hraustligr Virki that was said to keep away the perverted frost magic of the trolls as long as it remained burning. Because of this, the trolls have been trying all in their power to extinguish its fire, but they have never been successful. Whether it is true that The Great Blaze holds away the frost is yet to be known, but there is no doubt that it has ruffled the feathers of the trolls quite well, and encouraged the Mjaln to keep fighting. However, in the third year of Fenner's reign, he came to realize that his armies were suffering from a crippling, debilitating disease that no Mjaln should carry: fear. He saw how some of his men fled in battle, in sheer terror of death. Death was unknown and mysterious to the Mjaln, and they feared what was on the other side, once they had been cut down. Fenner saw this, and even though it seemed impossible to fix for a mere mortal man like himself, he was also a man of ambition. So, one day, he gathered all the finest shamans in the realm for a ceremonial ritual, meant for summoning no one less than the god of death, Morrin. The ritual was a success, and Fenner stood before the death his men feared so much. But Fenner feared him not. He spoke with him, showed him how his men feared him, and proposed a pact: Fenner was willing to give his own life to Morrin, in exchange for a place where all Mjaln would go, should they fall in battle. A place of endless feasting a boasting, of celebration and joy, a place of respite and rest after so many years of battle. To this, Morrin agreed, and Fenner's life was taken in exchange for the creation of the place that became known as 'Fennerheim'. To this day, the Mjaln warriors and huscarls, whether men or women, have never feared death in battle, and have been widely regarded as the strongest, most fearsome force in the entire Mortal Realm. Later on, when Fenner had passed away and many more jarls after him had taken his place, it was around the time where the High Elves had revolted against their fae overlords. The Mjaln had settled in and become rather lazy and fat at this time, and the trolls seemed to have taken a similar turn, because the war was slowly quieting down for the time being. It was still there, battles still being fought and people still being killed, but it didn't seem such a pressing matter anymore. However, that quickly took a dire turn when the High Elves began to invade the fourth valley, realm of King Olaf, with their green magic. At first the Mjaln, being as lazy as they were at this point, didn't take it too seriously, but they quickly came to realize that the elves were working their magic much faster than they expected. By the time the Mjaln launched an assault to take back the land which the elves were now turning into a forest, the valley was already almost completely consumed by their magic. What before was very familiar ground, the very home and birthplace of the Mjaln, was now a strange and alien jungle. The current jarl only used a month to rally his forces, but that was more than enough for the high elves to transform the cold valley into a tropical jungle, which the Mjaln couldn't possibly fight in, because of the unfamiliar territory. The high elves easily repelled the Mjaln forces with their archers in their trees and their mages, and the Mjaln were left with no choice but to back off, if they were not to lose more men in this effortless assault. From that day on, the Mjaln had to let go of their homeland, which was left too unguarded to stay the High Elf invasion. And because of this, even to this day, Mjaln and high elves have a striking dislike for one another. Strangely enough, in the year 784, no more than 74 years after the Mjaln lost their land to the elves, Jarl Gunfer receives a call for help from the elven queen, Ethella. The letter reads that Lumion, where many elves have colonized, is being razed by Shogun Kyonin of Yantsu Island. Elves and Myaani alike were being eradicated by the thousands, and while Ethella may have been able to keep the Mjaln at bay, the forces of Shogun Kyonin vastly outmatch her with his armies of samurai warriors, who mix blade and spell to create a whirlwind of destruction. Jarl Gunfer was a wise man of his time, and sought to heed the lessons of Jarl Fenner, but found that there was a vast majority of his population that would rather see the elves annihilated at the hands of Shogun Kyonin - some even suggested that Jarl Gunfer forge an alliance with the Shogun, rather than Ethella. However, that did not come to pass. Jarl Gunfer, while pondering on what to decide, took a pilgrimage to the highest mountain in all of the north, and spent a month in silent contemplation, so that he might hear the words of spirits, gods, and ancestors. At the end of the month, he returned to his people and told that none other than Jarl Fenner himself had told him, that he must lay aside old grudges and take up arms with Ethella. Shogun Kyonin would only seek to eradicate, while Ethella sought nothing but survival. And thus, Jarl Gunfer forgave Ethella for what she had done only 74 years prior, so that they together could bring down Kyonin's oppressive rule. By the time they had pushed him so far back that Gunfer and Ethella stood by his very door, all they saw when they set foot inside, was Kyonin performing seppuku before their very eyes, to keep him from falling in enemy hands. It was in his blood, that some of the Mjaln-Elf hatred was extinguished.